


Still Ours

by yaakov



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Backstory, Canon Compliant, Gen, Robert's Rebellion, Siege of Storm's End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3571481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaakov/pseuds/yaakov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been nearly a year, and Storm's End is still under siege. Stannis Baratheon is plagued with dwindling stores, ungrateful men, and an annoying little brother. As rare luck would have it, relief comes with a stranger in the black of night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Ours

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago for [got-exchange](http://got-exchange.livejournal.com/).

Storm's End had not seen sunlight for days. Stannis Baratheon sat in silence, listening to the endless roar of waves and thunder. The storms made no difference to the castle guard and the rest, who had grown pale and thin behind the black walls. If anything, the incessant rains made the watch on the battlements only slightly more miserable than they were to begin with. The war had made them prisoners in their own castle; no one had entered or left Storm's End for nearly a year, and still the besiegers showed no sign of taking leave.  
  
Before him stood a large writing desk strewn with maps, parchments, ledgers, and letters. All were useless. Still, Stannis poured over the ledgers, reviewing and recalculating how long the castle's provisions could have lasted. At first, he'd been criticized for being excessively conservative. Nevertheless, without such severe measures, they would all have been dead long since. Instead of praising Stannis for his foresight, men cursed him for forcing them to live. How much longer they'd have breath to curse was another matter.  
  
The door to his late father's study creaked open, and Stannis stood abruptly. No one had leave to pass the two guardsmen without first asking his permission. Before he could savor his indignation, however, a small boy of six darted into the room. Scowling, Stannis crossed to shut the heavy door as the boy lifted himself onto the writing desk with a tiny huff.  
  
"Renly. What are you doing here?"  
  
The boy looked up with an uncharacteristically sullen expression. "I'm bored. And hungry. I'm tired of eating radishes. Aren't there any more cats?"  
  
"We killed the last weeks ago. But you're in luck, little brother. The radishes are almost gone, and even the rats won't last much longer."  
  
Renly's huge blue eyes grew even wider. Stannis felt a pang of pity when he noticed how pale and thin his brother was. It can't be helped, he told himself for the thousandth time. The cooks made certain little Renly got the lord's portion of every meager meal. It wasn't fair that the sweet boy should starve like the rest of them, they said, and Stannis didn't bother protesting. If anything boosted the men's morale, it was Renly, the only one of them who still found it in him to laugh and jest.  
  
"What happens when the rats are gone," Renly whined. "Are we going to die, brother?"  
  
"Probably."  
  
"Where's Robert?" Renly's nurse said the boy asked this question daily. "Isn't he going to save us?"  
  
"Our brother started a war he can't finish, and he's left us here to rot. Does that make you love him all the more?"  
  
"Yes! I miss Robert. He should've taken me with him, but instead he left me with  _you_!"  
  
"Aye, would that he had taken you. At least he could spare me your endless crying."  
  
"I'm not crying!" Renly wailed. "You're cruel!"  
  
"Oh, hush and leave me."  
  
Renly only shrank, his tangled black hair brushing his thin, hunched shoulders. Stannis gestured sharply to the door.  
  
"Go on. I'm hardly in the mood for your insolence."  
  
Finally, Renly slid off the desk. He sniffed loudly, rubbing at his reddening eyes. As his little hand reached for the door, he turned back to Stannis.  
  
"What is it now," Stannis asked with a sigh, sinking into a large, carved chair, the room's only seat. He turned back to the disordered desk, visibly ignoring the boy in hopes he would leave.  
  
"I'm scared," Renly said in a small voice. "I don't want to die."  
  
His elder brother turned, studying the frightened boy trying to hide his tears. Of course Renly was afraid. He couldn't understand what was going on. He was six years old, scared and starving, with only his old wet nurse and least favorite brother for comfort. Little Renly could only be brave and laughing for so long.  
  
"Come," Stannis told him. His voice sounded hoarse, but it was the best attempt at softness he could muster. To Stannis's shock, Renly ran towards him, his small feet pattering across the cold stone floor. The boy slid to the floor at his brother's feet, wrapping his spindly arms around Stannis's legs. Stannis coughed, cleared his throat, and coughed again, but Renly didn't get the hint. Stiffly, Stannis patted him on the head. He wanted to comfort the boy, but he was quite unused to clinging children.  
  
"Hush, Renly. Come now, listen." He patted him again, but the child only clung more tightly. "The truth? You're not likely to die. A highborn lad like you will be taken hostage and fostered as some lord's ward. If any of us is likely to live, it's you. Now, as for Robert and I...that all depends on the outcome of this damned war. So hush, stop your crying. Renly,  _stop_ — " Stannis grasped his shoulders, trying to pry off him off. "You're a Baratheon of Storm's End. Imagine if Robert could see you acting like a scared little girl."  
  
Sniffing loudly, Renly disentangled himself, much to Stannis's relief. He stood up straight, rubbing his nose furiously. "Right," he said stuffily. "I'll be brave. Like Robert."  
  
Stannis frowned and clenched his jaw, saying nothing for several moments. He glanced at the maps once more, and when he spoke next, he scarcely knew why.  
  
"Do you not think me brave, Renly?"  
  
Renly said nothing, furrowing his little brow in confusion.  
  
"Listen, little brother. If all of us had rushed into war like our Robert, you'd no longer have a home. The southron armies would have razed Storm's End to the ground, had we left it undefended. Remember that, Renly."  
  
The boy frowned, studying his feet. "But...if our enemies took Storm's End, why couldn't we just take their castles?"  
  
Stannis groaned, rubbing his knitted brow. "One day you'll understand. I hope," he added bitterly.  
  
"If only we had some dragons, brother," Renly suddenly declared. "Or pirates! The dragons could kill all our enemies, but _pirates_ could take the ships and bring us all their food and gold."  
  
Stannis's frown deepened.  _He's only a boy,_  he reminded himself.  _He can't possibly understand._  "Quite a battle plan, little brother. We'll make a war general of you yet. Now, run off and find me these dragons and pirates."  
  
As if he couldn't help himself any longer, Renly grinned. "All right. I'll find them. And then we'll tell Robert how  _I_  won the war," he exclaimed, dashing from the study. On his way out, he almost bowled right into the maester. The greybeard struggled to keep a small tray from spilling precious food. Still, Cressen managed a chuckle as he shut the door behind him.  
  
Stannis sighed heavily, kneading his brow. His head pounded, and he could feel the pulsing veins in his temples. "When you leave, old man, take this message. The men outside my door are to be moved to the midnight watch, seaward. I ordered them to let no one enter without my leave, and with you comes the second disturbance this hour."  
  
Maester Cressen inclined his head. "As you will." The young lord didn't ordered him to leave, however, and this wasn't lost on the old maester. He smiled weakly. "I've come with your meal. I thought this would be a welcome sight."  
  
"Leave it," Stannis said shortly, jerking his head towards a small table in the corner. Already, the smell of food threatened to sicken him.  
  
Cressen nodded, carefully placing the tray. "You should eat, Stannis," he said quietly. "Also, please get some rest tonight. You need your strength, for your own sake and your men's."  
  
"My lord brother's men, you mean. Speaking of brothers, I think Renly's lost his wits. He tried to embrace me today, if you can imagine."  
  
"Did he? I hope you returned the gesture. You must realize, Stannis, you're all the boy has."  
  
"Oh, spare me," he muttered dismissively, but the maester's words made his chest feel heavy. He paused, wishing he could voice his doubts and hopes. He couldn't. "I'll take my meal now."  
  
"As you will." The maester closed the door as softly as he spoke.  
  
Alone once more, Stannis rose and crossed to the small table. The study was sparsely furnished, and the table itself was more like an empty lampstand. Bracing himself, he lifted the pewter lid that covered his meal. Bits of meat floated, pink and grey, in a weak, clear broth. Beside the bowl stood a cup half-full of fresh water. His stomach roiled, and Stannis shut his eyes as he hurriedly covered the tray. Bile tainted his mouth, and fighting down his sickness, he steeled himself for the boiled rat. After many months, hunger had become a strange affliction. His stomach stayed painfully empty, but food made him cramp and sicken. It was hopeless state, much like exhaustion. The more he starved, the less stomach he had for food; the more fatigued he became, the less he could sleep. He mused on this deliriously as he gnawed on the tough, boiled meat. Once, Stannis would have silently despaired enduring this one moment longer. Now, misery was commonplace, and the thought of being comfortable once again had become unimaginable.  
  


* * *

  
  
Sleep came miserably and fitfully to Stannis Baratheon. All was made worse by the incessant banging and shouts of "My lord! My lord!"  _Robert. He's returned. He's won the war, broken the siege, and now the people are shouting his praises. King Robert. Lord —_  
  
"Stannis! Lord Stannis!"  
  
He woke at once. Stannis never struggled from sleep like most men. Finding himself fully dressed and sitting in an armchair, he realized he'd forgotten to get into bed once again. He stood abruptly and crossed quickly to the door of his chambers. If men were shouting his name, it usually meant nothing good had occurred. Flinging the door ajar, he found two guards, different than those who'd been there earlier.  
  
"Our apologies for waking you at this hour, my lord, but it's urgent."  
  
"What  _is_  this hour, pray?"  
  
"Just hours before dawn, but still black as night."  
  
"Lovely. Now, what's so urgent that I must pry it out of you?"  
  
"Apologies. My lord. It's...a smuggler's been caught. He passed under the castle just moments ago, coming in with the first tide."  
  
"We've detained him in a cell below," the other guardsman answered, "and seized his cargo. He carries food, my lord, and seemingly naught else."  
  
"Wake the maester," Stannis said at once. "Bring him to me, and in the meantime, see that no one lays a finger on this smuggler  _or_  his cargo."  
  
His men left, and Stannis soon found himself pacing the room. He needed the counsel of one he could trust, and the only man he dared trust was the old maester. This news made no sense. What business would a smuggler have entering Storm's End? The castle clearly had nothing worth smuggling, at this point. But no, the smuggler hadn't come for booty, at any rate. He'd brought his food cargo into a castle full of starving men. What in the seven hells did this mean?  
  
Cressen came quickly, as always. "The castle has been infiltrated by a single man, I hear?"  
  
Stannis ground his teeth with such fervor that his jaw cracked. "Do none of these men have any sense? I bade them summon you, not fill your ears with their prattle."  
  
"Perhaps they're just as curious and perplexed as I am. What would you have of me?"  
  
"I need you to take inventory of the smuggler's cargo, and quickly. He carries food, I've been told. Make full notes of everything in his ship, and be certain  _no one_  takes a bite of anything. The cargo could be poisoned and sent by our enemies. If it is not, which is unlikely, it will be evenly distributed among us all. If a single man takes an unfair share, I will gut him for his gluttony."  
  
The maester frowned. "I will go at once. I'm certain your fears for your own men are unfounded, however, given the fates of those who last disobeyed you."  
  
"Aye, but I'll never be surprised by the things weak men do in the face of temptation." He stayed quiet for some moments, frowning, trying to find words with which to phrase his worries.  
  
"Shall I go, then?"  
  
Stannis sighed heavily. "What do you make of this, Maester? What in the hells could this criminal want? How could he enter this castle without leave of damned Redwyne and his fleet? He must be theirs, he must be."  
  
"Or else he was bought by your brother's men to ease the siege? It is a possibility."  
  
"I doubt that, old man." To his surprise, his voice wavered. Clearing his throat, he forced his voice to be louder and stronger. A lord's voice. If Robert succeeded, Stannis would be lord of Storm's End. Unlike the rest of castle's dullards, Maester Cressen silently acknowledged that this was an 'if.' He never called Stannis "lord" because, in all honesty, Stannis was lord of nothing.  _Cressen knows this and is honest,_  he thought gratefully, not for the first time.  
  
"Again, I doubt it. Robert's oafish head is filled with blood and glory. What could persuade him to think of us?"  
  
Maester Cressen met the young man's eyes, still frowning. "Perhaps you should speak to this smuggler, and soon. If anyone's likely to know his mind, it's you, Stannis. By your leave, I'm anxious to see to this cargo."  
  
Stannis nodded sharply. "Indeed. I'll go at once, as should you."  
  
As the two of them left and parted, Stannis mentally scolded himself.  _I'll go at once? That's no way for a lord to speak. When..._ if _Robert succeeds, I will agree to no one's demands. I will make my own demands, as a lord should._  And yet, he knew Maester Cressen made no demands of him. The old man merely voiced Stannis's own thoughts, often more wisely than he would have himself. As he descended to the holding cells, Stannis forced himself to become the Lord of Storm's End. Truth be damned, he needed authority to deal with this smuggler. What lawless man would submit to someone whose only claim to power was being Robert Baratheon's little brother?  
  
A guard quickly showed Stannis to the smuggler's cell. By the flickering torchlight, he could see a small shape seated in a corner. Stannis waved the guard away, and alone he entered the dim holding cell. The smuggler rose at once. He was a lithe man, much shorter than Stannis himself. He appeared somewhat older, though, with shaggy, light-brown hair and a face as plain as his dress.  
  
"Your name, smuggler," Stannis demanded. His height made him feel bolder, despite his relative youth.  
  
"Davos," the man replied. "Are you lord of this holdfast?"  
  
"The lord's brother," Stannis replied, his jaw tightening. "Davos the smuggler. I remember that name. Once, you made off with the entire cargo of one of my father's ships."  
  
Davos lowered his eyes. "I did. Though pirating never was my trade."  
  
"Aye, though you're aware that transporting stolen goods is just as criminal as stealing them yourself."  
  
Pausing, he looked back up. He met Stannis's eyes plainly, with neither defiance nor deference. "I'm aware that your laws forbid me to carry certain goods. But, m'lord, it's often these laws that make criminals."  
  
"It's your actions that make you a criminal, smuggler," Stannis snapped angrily. "You choose to steal and flout the law while other men live honestly. The law does not target men unjustly."  
  
"And what of my actions tonight, m'lord?"  
  
Stannis stared hard at the small man, suspicious of mockery, as ever. The smuggler frowned, his brown eyes wide and troubled. Even so, his gaze never faltered.  
  
"Why did you enter Storm's End?"  
  
"Because I'm the only man who could," Davos said levelly.  
  
"Explain yourself."  
  
"Your castle hasn't received provisions for well on a year. That's plain for anyone to see. And this siege is sure to go on for months more. It wasn't right to watch you men starve. Countless times, I've sailed below your walls, and with the same caution, I knew I could sail right under old Redwyne's nose. So, for months I watched them, and yesterday I filled my ship with all the food it could carry. There's quite a lot of onions, as it happens, though I'm certain they're better than nothing."  
  
For a long while, Stannis said nothing. He studied the man, taking in his lean, quick-looking build and his open, honest eyes. How could this be? A criminal takes pity on Storm's End? Yet if this man were lying, he'd make a better mummer than a smuggler. Again, he stared into those guileless brown eyes, and an uncertain smile touched the smuggler's face.  
  
"You doubt me. I bring a shipful of food to a hold of starving men, and I'm jailed and thought a liar."  
  
"You're a criminal. By your very nature, you're untrustworthy."  
  
"An honest smuggler," Davos muttered thoughtfully. "Have you ever met a dishonorable knight, m'lord?"  
  
Stannis was silent for a moment, then grunted. "Hmph. I'd say that's most of them."  
  
Again, the wary smile flickered on Davos's face. "Then if you can have a dishonest knight, why not an honest smuggler?"  
  
"Fine. I take your point, smuggler, but a man can't afford to trust in wartimes. You'll take a bite from one of your onions, and if you don't die choking, we'll accept your offering." Stannis stepped out, giving a sharp order to the man outside. As the guardsman trotted off, Stannis stepped back into the cell. He was now completely alone with this infamous criminal, Davos the smuggler. He cursed himself for a fool, but taking one look at Davos made him feel less foolish. Stannis, to whom distrust came so easily, felt a queer sort of faith in this man. Davos met his gaze and spoke plainly, even while being questioned in a damp cell. He acted as a good man would.  
  
Stannis gave his head a quick shake. He couldn't afford to trust this man, especially untested. Still, he could possibly learn something from him, even if indirectly. "What rumors have you heard of the war, smuggler? We haven't had a soul pass through these walls in months, so your word is as good as any."  
  
"Call me Davos, m'lord. But I admit, it's only rumors I bring. Inland, both armies are marching north. Your brother's and the Targaryen prince's. Though, this was weeks ago I heard this. The battle could be over by now, far as I know. I've been out to sea for many days, but yesterday, as I was loading my cargo, I had a man tell me Prince Rhaegar's dead. He said nothing of your brother Robert."  
  
"Dead? Who told you this?"  
  
"Another criminal. You wouldn't know him, m'lord."  
  
"And he said nothing of Robert?"  
  
"Nothing." Davos looked at him for a moment longer, then sighed. "Were I you, I wouldn't trust these rumors. The only thing I believe for certain is that your brother and the prince were marching north, nearing the Trident. That's the last likely news I've got from anyone I trust."  
  
Stannis looked down at Davos, struggling to keep his face impassive. He clenched his jaw, and his heart pounded. Prince Rhaegar, dead? He believed it. If it hadn't happened already, it would before the war ended. Robert wouldn't die without killing him first. If Rhaegar's army marched to meet Robert's weeks ago, then likely the prince was dead. But Robert....  
  
"Well, if your prince isn't dead yet, he will be soon. I pity the man who meets my brother in battle."  
  
"My prince? Men like me don't have princes, I'm afraid."  
  
"Well, soon you'll have a king of my own blood." Immediately, Stannis scolded himself. What sort of mindless boast was that?  _A true one. Robert can't die. He won't let himself. And now, you sound like your foolish little brother._  
  
Luckily, the guard returned, interrupting his childish thoughts. He handed Stannis a single onion, as requested. Gripping the bulb in one hand, Stannis turned back to his captive smuggler.  
  
"Here's your test, Davos. If you eat this and live, I reckon the rest of us will as well." The smuggler lifted a hand, and Stannis lifted the onion to toss it — then, deciding against it, he stepped forward to hand it off.  
  
Davos took the onion, his mouth set firmly. "I wouldn't want to take from your stores, but your demand is fair enough." He took a large bite, chewed, and swallowed.  
  
Stannis frowned, watching and feeling suddenly foolish. The smuggler wasn't dead, but what if it was a slow-working poison? He watched the man closely, making note of every movement for the maester's judgement. Yet, when he saw the man's tight smile and his small nod, he knew. When Davos handed him the half-eaten onion, he took a bite of his own. It tasted like an onion, fresh and sharp, and that was all.  
  
"Very well, smuggler. I owe you my thanks. Our thanks. However," he continued, his voice hardening, "you remain a criminal, despite your good deeds. For that, I shall need to pass judgement."  
  
Davos blinked, his eyes flickering with a flash of uncertainty. Even so, his voice never wavered. "I trust your judgement will be just."  
  
Stannis nodded sharply. "Aye, as always." For one more moment, he stared at this honest smuggler, then spoke. "I'll leave you, Davos, and tomorrow I'll see that you receive better lodging. Better food's beyond me, as you well know. Still, you will be guarded and kept alone for the duration of this siege. Then, you will receive appropriate judgement and reward." He turned to take his leave, but with one foot out of the cell, he glanced back. He found Davos looking back, a strange expression on his honest face. Approval, was it? Stannis couldn't tell, for he turned away the second their eyes met again.  
  
He hastily ascended to his chambers, his mind afire. The windows showed dawn's arrival. For the first time in ages, he felt sleep upon him, but he forced it off. He needed to speak with Maester Cressen. He needed detailed reports of this smuggler's cargo, and he had to share the news of the war, even mere rumors as it was. If they were lucky and Davos's reports were true, these onions could very well last them until the end. As he neared his chambers, however, he heard running footsteps slapping on the stone stairs.  
  
"Stannis! Stannis?"  
  
He came around a sharp corner, and something small and warm ran straight into him. Little Renly wrapped his arms around his brother's waist, shouting with wordless glee. He looked up at Stannis, his thin, wan face brightened by a large smile.  
  
"I was right! It's a pirate, isn't it? A real pirate's come to save us!"  
  
Stannis coughed, or laughed, or grunted. He wasn't sure which. He pulled Renly off and led him to up to his chambers. Stifling a yawn, he opened the door, and Renly rushed to the tall window.  
  
"Wait, they're all still there!" the boy whined. "I thought the pirates were going to take their ships."  
  
Stannis sighed. "He's only one man, and he's a smuggler, Renly. He doesn't plunder ships. He takes what pirates steal and transports the goods. Sometimes, he carries goods so there won't be any tax levied at the dock. He's a criminal, but yes, he's brought us food. Just as you predicted." Stannis crossed to the window and hesitantly laid a hand on Renly's shoulder. "How did you hear about this, by the way, and why are you accosting me at sunrise?"  
  
"I heard the guards talking outside my door. They said there's a smuggler in Storm's End, and you went and talked to him. Did you really talk to the pirate, Stannis? I want to talk to him too!" Renly looked up, his eyes wide and excited, but Stannis shook his head.  
  
"He isn't a pirate, and I won't have you talking to him. Not yet. We can't be sure he's trustworthy."  
  
Renly made a face. "But he brought us food?"  
  
"Yes, he brought us food. Nevertheless, he's a criminal. Until I know he's safe, I won't have you in danger." He squeezed his little brother's shoulder.  
  
Stannis expected the boy to protest, but Renly just grinned. "I know you call him a smuggler, but he sounds like a pirate to me."  
  
"Perhaps so, and perhaps you're a little rascal who should go back to sleep. If you don't bother me or Maester Cressen for the next few hours, you'll get some onion stew."  
  
"Onion  _stew?_  Who eats onion stew?"  
  
"You, now that we've run out of rats." He clapped Renly on the shoulder. "Go, I've got work to do. You'll have your soup later."  
  
As Renly scampered off, Stannis turned back to the window. Redwyne's ships cluttered his view, bold as ever, but beyond he thought he glimpsed the open sea. The siege could be almost over, and even if it weren't, they may well survive it. And if Prince Rhaegar were truly dead, Robert.... But it made no sense to hope, did it? Those were childish thoughts, best left to Renly. Stannis was a man full grown, soon to be Lord of Storm's End, brother to the King of the Seven Kingdoms. It would be King Robert, of course, though Lord Stannis of Storm's End didn't sound quite bad, now that he considered it. Sighing and shaking his head, he stepped outside to send for Maester Cressen. He would do his duty, hold the castle, and keep them fed — thanks to Davos the smuggler, no doubt.  _Why be proud of a holdfast when your brother has a kingdom,_  Stannis chastised himself. It wasn't his place to be proud. He would do his duty, and if that meant accepting food from a smuggler, then so be it. When that foolhardy brother of his returned, he would find their castle safe, strong, and most importantly, still theirs.


End file.
